I spin all my ideas as freely as I get them
emptying myself of verses and rhythms.
Those missed are gone as happens, expectedly.
Then in my sleep, empty, I’m transported
to the poetical nebula where I traverse
the expanse of unconsciousness, where ideas
recognize me and travel with me.
From sleep, my crucible of rest I awake forged new.
Filled with fresh thoughts more than I can name.
In awake hours, in bursts, they present themselves freely,
oddly familiar threads for me to weave my new lyrics.
© 2010 Shari Lynne Smothers
Day 5 prompt: Write a “metamorphosis” poem; details here from 2010 November PAD Chapbook Challenge